


Matches Into Water

by yulhee



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abuse Themes, Addiction Themes, Angst, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7570852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulhee/pseuds/yulhee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Hotchner gets the call that his youngest agent has yet again landed himself in the hospital at 3:57 in the morning, but Reid's explanation of how the night happened doesn't quite ring true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Aaron Hotchner gets the call at almost exactly 3:57 in the morning.

At first, he thinks it's work; sighing heavily, he blinks his eyes open and hopes the ringtone didn't wake his son in the next room. He fumbles for his cellphone on the cabinet beside him, his fingers making contact with a pair of sunglasses, his sidearm, and his sleeping pill prescription before he reaches his phone. Glancing at the screen through bleary eyes, he sees that he has one voicemail from Spencer Reid, having been logged at 1:12 in the morning.

He'd slept through it.

But there's no time for Reid now - he clears his throat and goes to answer the new call.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner," he says, even though it's from an unrecognised number and it might not be work-related at all (but at this point of his career he knows that would be too good to be true).

"Sorry to disturb you so late at night, sir," a brisk-voiced woman on the other end of the line replies. "I'm calling on behalf of Devon Memorial Hospital."

If Aaron wasn't awake before, this forces him to be. Who does he know that could be in that hospital? Who does he have power of attorney over? "I see," he says evenly, waiting for the woman to elaborate for him.

"A _Spencer Reid_ was admitted," she carries on, "just around an hour ago."

Aaron's heart begins to race. "What happened?" he asks, getting out of bed and gathering his clothes.

"He's quite fine, sir," she assures him, though Aaron won't believe Spencer Reid is alive and well until he sees the damn kid with his own two eyes. "There was an incident earlier this morning, he was hit by a car and sustained several injuries. There's no danger right now though."

"And the driver?" Aaron almost splutters. He can't find his tie, just a dress shirt, but he supposes it will have to do.

"Minor injuries," the woman says much more calmly than Aaron feels, "but it wasn't a hit and run. She's distraught, actually."

"Was she drunk?

"No traces of alcohol in the tests," the woman confirms. "One less person you'll have to arrest."

Aaron wants to tell the woman that it doesn't quite work like that, that FBI agents aren't usually the ones arresting drunk drivers since they're usually doing more important jobs like tracking down serial killers, investigating white collar fraud or apparently even _wandering around at one in the morning and getting hit by cars_ , but he takes a small second to pause and hold his tongue. "I'll be right there," he assures her, stepping into one pant leg and holding his phone awkwardly between his ear and shoulder. "Thank you for informing me."

"My pleasure," the woman says, which is a bit of a weird thing for her to say in Aaron's eyes considering the subject matter of the call, but he utters another quick _thank you_ under his breath and ends the call once he's gotten both pant legs on. After doing his belt and shoes, he picks up his phone again and calls Jessica.

She doesn't pick up his first call and he can barely hold back from swearing in frustration; he doesn't particularly want to take Jack along to see a banged-up Spencer, nor does he think Jack would take kindly to being dragged out of bed on a school night. She answers his second call almost immediately though, with an obviously tired, "...Aaron?"

"Jessica, I need you to take Jack for the rest of the night," Aaron says, slipping one arm through the first jacket he sees.

"...Good morning," Jessica mutters. "I'll be happy to, what happened?"

He doesn't miss the trace of anxiety in her voice. "One of my agents got hit by a car," Aaron explains, swapping his phone-hand and slipping his other arm through the jacket. "I'll probably be there the rest of the morning until work."

"Oh god," Jessica says, and Aaron can easily picture the hand that slips up over her mouth. "Who was it…?"

"Reid," he answers, "the tall skinny one."

"Oh," Jessica says, swallowing loudly. "I like him...Anyway, I'll be happy to take Jack for you. Tell Reid I'm keeping him in my thoughts," she says.

"Thank you, I'll drop him off soon-"

"Aaron?"

Jessica's voice makes Aaron stop in his track for the first time tonight. "Yes?" he asks, keenly aware that he's wasting time.

"Make sure you get some sleep," she says, before hanging up. Aaron is left with the dial tone buzzing in his ear. Swallowing, he grabs his car keys and heads for Jack's room.

"Jack?" he says, turning on the lights in his son's room.

The figure tucked in the bed groans and starts to move. "Dad..?" comes a confused moan.

"Get dressed, Jack," he says, tugging at the sheets to peel them away from his son's face. Jack cringes when the bright light hits his eyes. "I'm taking you to Aunt Jessica's."

** x o x **

It's half-past four in the morning by the time Aaron makes it to the hospital. He's never much cared for them; the anxiety over the possibility of losing a family member and the number of strangers pretending to be your friends make for an uncomfortable and clinical environment. In fact, he thinks he'd prefer it tonight if he was the one being visited.

There's a number of colourful characters in the waiting room this morning; another reason he feels uncomfortable in hospitals is the amount of other people, all with their own stories and losses (and they're all so disgustingly easy to profile). There's a woman sitting with red-rimmed eyes, arms around her two sons as they sleep against her body. Her partner is nowhere to be found, except probably in the operating theatres, or maybe in a body bag by now. A teenage girl is sitting dejectedly on the opposite side of the room, with some fingers in casts and a large bandage on her forehead. Every five or so seconds, Aaron sees her reach up and wipe her eyes gently with a soaked-through tissue. The last person is a young man, around twenty-five, with what look like meth sores running down his arms and face. His foot is tapping out an impatient rhythm, and every so often his face twitches. Aaron puts them out of his mind and continues to the front desk

"I'm here for Spencer Reid," he starts, before the receptionist can say anything to him.

"Spencer Reid…" she says to herself, typing his name out. Judging by her voice, she's not the same woman who called him before. "He's not ready for visitors just yet, but his doctor should be out any moment to talk to you."

"I'm an FBI agent," he says as he pulls out his badge, hoping it will give him some pull.

Unfortunately, the woman doesn't so much glance at it. "I'm sorry sir, but we have to follow protocol," she says, and does sound genuinely sorry (or at least she would, if her eyes weren't glued to her computer screen). Aaron dips his head and begins to take a seat when he sees a doctor come through the hallway.

"Spencer Reid?" the doctor questions.

"Here," Aaron says, raising a hand and walking over. The two shake hands, and continue a little bit up the hallway, away from the others in the waiting area.

"I'm Doctor Lee," the doctor introduces himself. "What relation do you have to Mr Reid?"

"I'm Doctor Reid's boss," Aaron replies. "He has no family in the area. How is he?"

"He'll be just fine in a month or two," the doctor replies, with a faint, humourless smile. "He sustained two broken ribs, his right wrist is broken, and he has the mildest of concussions. Plus a few cuts and scrapes, but they're superficial at worst, nothing to worry about."

"What about his knee?" Aaron asks. "He's been shot there before, it's left it weaker than it should be-"

"It'll probably be sore for a while, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage," Doctor Lee replies. "Aside from getting hit by a car, he's a pretty lucky man."

Aaron nods, feeling relieved that his agent will ( _eventually_ ) be fine. "Has he said anything about why he was out in the middle of the night?"

Doctor Lee shakes his head. "To tell the truth, he hasn't said much at all...probably due to the concussion. But don't worry, that's standard for car accidents," he assures Aaron, seeing the agent's concerned face. "He did have one request though, something that I thought it was a bit odd."

"What was it?" Aaron asks, perhaps even more concerned now.

"He asked for me to tell you not to tell his mother what had happened."

Aaron mulls this over. It seems wise, to him; his mother being ill the way she is, she might react badly to learning her son had been injured. Then again, he hadn't said not to tell her any other times he'd been hurt on the job. "Thank you, Doctor Lee. I won't tell her, then."

"Perhaps it was just the concussion talking," Doctor Lee suggests. "Would you like to see him? He didn't seem that receptive to the idea of visitors at first, but he eventually said you could see him."

"Thank you, I would like to," Aaron nods. Doctor Lee nods back, and the two move further down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Reid is sitting upright in the bed with his eyes closed when Aaron walks in. The older agent can’t help but wince when he sees him, with bruises and cuts over his arms and face, most of them not entirely cleaned of blood. There’s a purple cast over his broken wrist, and his breathing is uncomfortably shallow.

“I hope you didn’t fall asleep,” Aaron says, pulling up a chair beside the younger man. 

Reid blinks open his eyes and gives a faint smile at his boss. “Just tired,” he says. Aaron’s surprised to hear there’s not so much as a slur or mumble in his tone. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“I suppose,” Aaron grimaces. “How do you feel?”

“Not great.” Reid yawns. “I wish I could sleep. For a long time.”

“A genius like you should know better than that right now.”

“No sleeping right now with the concussion, I know.”

“How are your ribs?” Aaron asks, changing the subject. Just by looking at Reid’s chest he can see that his agent is in a great deal of pain just by breathing.

“Painful. I don’t think I’d be getting any sleep anyway.” He shifts awkwardly, placing his broken arm under the bedsheets. “You know, you didn’t have to come in the middle of the night. I don’t want to inconvenience Jack.”

“You didn’t,” Aaron says. The words fall out of him in a rush; he certainly doesn't want Reid to think of himself as a burden. “You didn’t do that at all.”

“Really?” Reid pauses, then smirks faintly. “So, how did he react to being woken up at four in the morning?”

“...Not well,” Aaron admits. Reid’s mouth opens to reply, but Aaron cuts him off before he can. “But I told him the situation and he understood. Reid, you got  _ hit by a car _ .”

The corner of Reid’s mouth turns up again. “I guess I forgot. How thoughtless of me.” 

The two fall silent for a few more seconds, both keenly aware of the awkward question Aaron is going to have to ask sooner or later. He decides to dive right in and just get it over with. “How did you even get hit?”

“I...I was crossing the road and didn’t look properly?” Reid asks, frowning. “I don’t understand the question-”

“No, Reid,” Aaron replies with as much patience as he can muster. They both know Reid understood the question perfectly well. “Why were you out so late to begin with?”

“Can a man not go to a pharmacy to get medicine for his migraines without it being considered weird anymore, Hotch?”

It isn’t the answer Aaron’s been expecting - not that he has a clear idea of what he  _ was  _ expecting. “I thought they went away.”

Reid looks away uncomfortably. “It...it never really went away. I just stopped talking about it. I figured…” He trails away, leaving Aaron to fill in the blanks himself.

Except Aaron doesn’t want to. “You figured what, Reid?”

“I...I just figured you wouldn’t want to be hearing about it all the time. You would have tired of having to deal with it every week.”

“We wouldn't have.”

“You would have.” The uncomfortable look disappears from Reid’s face as he changes the subject. “So, the doctor says I could probably leave the day after the next. They want to monitor my concussion, I got hit at a weird kind of angle.”

“How’s your knee?” Aaron considers the possibility of Reid’s story about the pharmacy. It sounds innocent enough, and it certainly sounds like the type of thing Reid would conceal from him and the rest of the team, but there’s still something small that doesn’t quite sit right with him, though he can’t figure out what it is.

Reid shrugs. “It’s fine. It hurts, but so does my good knee.” He shifts again, wincing as his ribs move. “Hotch, could you do me a favour?”

“Of course,” Aaron replies, leaning forward. 

“Since I’m going to be in here another day, I figure I could use some entertainment…” Reid starts. “I have some books I haven’t gotten to reading yet in a big stack on my desk at my apartment.”

“You want me to get them for you?” Aaron asks.

Reid nods in reply. “Only if it’s not too inconvenient. And don’t get them now, because it’s so late, but maybe sometime in the afternoon today.”

“My lunch break at twelve?” Aaron suggests. “I can easily drop by your apartment and back here, you don’t live too far out.”

“Fortunately,” Reid agrees. “Unless there’s a case, of course.”

“I can always get Garcia to bring them.”

“Oh, there’s another thing.” Reid grimaces. “Please, don’t let the team visit. They can get...loud, and overbearing at times, and I’m not sure that’s what I want right now, with the concussion, and the ribs, and stuff.”

Aaron pauses. “I...don’t know if I’ll be able to stop Garcia.”

Reid smiles tiredly. “I suppose just doing your best will be good enough.”

“I’ll try bringing the books around noon,” Aaron says, bracing his hands on his knees and standing up. “Please try and get some rest. And don’t call Garcia about getting you some files.”

“I won’t,” Reid says, yawning again. “I’m not sure I’d be able to anyway. I’m beginning to find it hard to think coherently.”

Aaron gives a rare smile, standing back up and moving to head out the door. “Just make sure you’re still a genius when I get back-”

“Wait!” Reid interrupts him, looking panicked for a second before he schools his face back into one of restless fatigue. Aaron manages to hide a frown.

“What is it?”

“I have one more request.”

“Anything.”

Reid swallows, almost imperceptibly. “Did you receive a voicemail from me at sometime prior to my accident this morning?”

Aaron suddenly remembers the voicemail he’d seen just after waking up, and mentally kicks himself for not remembering it earlier. “Yes, I did, though I haven’t listened to it yet, sorry. Was it about something important?”   


Reid shakes his head, now wearing a pleasant smile. “No, actually. It was just a dumb mistake I made. Regardless, I’d like to ask you to delete that voicemail.”

Aaron pauses. “Why?”

“Like I said, I regret sending it.” Reid’s voice hardens, as does his smile. “Please delete it.”

“I…” Aaron considers his options. He respects Reid, and his privacy. If Reid doesn’t want him to listen to that voicemail, no matter what may be inside it, he wants to respect that. Even so, he can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

“Please,” Reid says, and there’s a tiny begging tone to his voice that pushes Aaron towards his decision.

“Alright,” Aaron says, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. “If that’s what you want.”

Reid smiles at him; not one of his usual half-smiles, where it’s barely visible, but a big, genuine one. “Thank you,” he says, the grin not once leaving his face.

Aaron doesn’t buy it at all.

**x o x**

“Excuse me, Mister... Agent?”

Aaron is just about to walk out of the hospital when he hears the voice from behind him. He turns on his heels, maintaining a neutral expression. “Yes?”

To his surprise, the teenage girl from the waiting room is standing behind him, one arm outstretched precariously. It drops to her side as she bites her lip. “Are you the boss of the man who got brought in from the car accident? Spencer Reid?”

“Yes,” he says cautiously, turning back around to face her fully this time. “And you are?”

“I’m…” She stumbles on her words and crosses her arms. “I’m the driver of the car that hit him. I’m so, so sorry...”

He’s surprised - he had been expecting someone who was middle-aged, glasses, maybe even an elderly person. Though perhaps a teenager makes more sense than he first realised; perhaps she was coming home from a party when she’d hit Reid. “How did you know I’m an agent?” he asks, suspicious.

“Same way I know the other guy’s name,” she explains, looking embarrassed. “After I called 911, I looked for identification...I was panicking.”

“But you did that  _ after  _ you called the emergency line?”

“Yes. Sir,” she adds hastily. 

“Then I suppose it’s fine,” Aaron says, watching the girl sag visibly with relief.

“Thank you,” she says, quieter than before. “I was just gonna ask if your agent was...okay. Aside from the obvious.”

“He’s about as okay as he could be after being hit by a car,” he replies tersely. He doesn’t mean it to come out as cruel, but the girl  _ did  _ just almost kill one of his best agents. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, unable to quite meet his gaze. “I was driving home from a party - I didn’t drink, I would never do that - and I guess...he came out of nowhere. I keep replaying those few minutes over and over in my head, wondering if I could have changed it…” She looks back up at him tearily, and it strikes Aaron as brave to show her tears to a stranger. 

“From what Reid told me, it was half his fault too,” he adds. “He said he didn’t look both ways properly. Pedestrians have responsibilities too.” There’s an awkward silence while she nods and dabs her eyes with her tissue. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Abigail,” she sniffs. “And you are, sir?”

“Just call me Hotchner,” he replies, unsure of how formal to be. Hotchner seems like a good mix between friendliness and formality. “You don’t have to call me sir either. May I ask how old you are?”

“Seventeen,” she answers, laughing softly despite the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. “I just got my full license too. I’m definitely going to be grounded now.”

_ And Reid is definitely going to have to take significant time off work,  _ Aaron thinks, but reminds himself it would be cruel to say that out loud to her. A part of him can’t help but blame Abigail for Reid’s accident, but mostly he feels sympathy for her. “I’m sorry for that,” he offers lamely. He hasn’t needed to ground Jack in a while, he realises. Would he ground him if he was involved in a car accident? Most likely not, in Abigail’s scenario.

“It’s alright,” Abigail says, “it’s only fair, I guess. That’s probably what your agent would say…”

“No,” Aaron says. “Reid is a good man. He won’t blame you. Not at all.”

“Thank you,” she replies after a pause. “I...I actually stopped you to ask you a question.”

“Yes?” 

“Would it be too much to ask if I could get Reid’s number?” she asks hopefully. “I get it’s a weird thing to ask, but...I just really want to know if he’s alright, but if I’m grounded, I probably won’t be able to check on him.”

“Reid only has a work phone as far as I know,”Aaron muses, “but I can cut you a better deal and give you my personal number. I have a job where I’m out of town pretty frequently, but I see Reid five out of seven days a week, and quite often more than that. You’ll get ahold of me quicker than Reid.”

“Really?” Abigail beams. “Thank you, uh, Hotchner.” She gets her phone out of her pocket - somewhat awkwardly with her splinted fingers - and inputs the digits as he recites them to her. “Don’t worry about calling me,” she says once they’re finished. “I’ll be fine. Just...thank you for this.”

“It’s no problem,” Aaron assures her. “Reid will be fine. His coworkers and I will make sure of that. Thank you for calling 911. Many girls your age would panic and just drive away.”

“Thank you...but I  _ was  _ panicking.” She shifts awkwardly. “I’ll let you go home now. Sorry for all this. Again.”

He shakes his head. “Panic is a normal response for someone so young as you,” he replies, getting ready to head out the door and try to figure out a way to tell his team of what had happened without alarming them too much. “Call whenever you’re comfortable.”

She gives him a nod and turns away to sit back down in her seat. Aaron heads back to his car, mulling the events of the night over. It was only the slightest feeling, but he was sure that Reid was hiding  _ something  _ about what had happened, even if his account about migraines and the pharmacy was believable. Abigail hadn’t seemed suspicious at all, but there’s still the chance that she knows what Reid’s hiding. 

**x o x**

Fortunately, the team doesn’t have a case when Hotch shows up to work. He gets there a little later than usual, having taken a nap at Jessica’s house and driven back to his own house to get a different suit. He hopes the team doesn’t notice before he tells them what had happened, however unlikely that may be.

Garcia’s spread the word that he wants to see the entire team in the round table room, and he’s thankful that the entire team has already gathered there, minus Reid. They look at him in concern as he walks in, the lack of files in his arms a dead giveaway that this is not a standard meeting.

“Is this about Reid?” JJ immediately asks.

Hotch isn’t surprised they’d already picked up on why he’d called them all here. “That was faster than I expected,” he says as he slides into his chair.

“He’s not here and there’s no case,” Morgan explains. “We figured it was the most likely-”

“Is he okay?” Garcia interrupts. To Hotch’s horror, he can see tears welling up in her eyes.

“He’s completely fine,” he starts, looking Garcia in the eyes, “but he won’t be coming to work for a while.” 

“And that is because…?” Rossi frowns, after a short pause. 

Hotch takes a moment to prepare for the oncoming onslaught of questions before continuing. “Late last night,” he begins, squaring his shoulders, “or I suppose early this morning, Reid was hit by a car. He’s-”

“ _ What? _ ” JJ, Morgan and Garcia all shriek in unison. Lewis’ eyes widen in horror, while Rossi simply lifts both eyebrows.

“He’s  _ fine _ , as I was saying,” Hotch replies tersely, giving the three loudest members of the team stern glances each. “He was taken to the hospital with two broken ribs, a broken wrist and a mild concussion. I’ve already talked to him and his doctor, and I have no doubt he’ll be completely fine in a few weeks.”

“What hospital?” Garcia demands, pulling out her phone.

“I’m not saying,” Hotch replies, and holds up a hand to shush Garcia’s gasp of horror. “I understand you’d all like to see him, but he had a headache when I last saw him, and I doubt he really wants to be disturbed.”

“I wouldn’t want to be,” Rossi muses. “If I had to deal with this team suddenly barging into my hospital room when I had a concussion, I think I’d rather get hit by a car again.”

“Jesus, Rossi,” Morgan mutters in slight disgust.

“What? This team is  _ loud _ ,” Rossi explains indignantly. 

“I guess,” JJ sighed. “I’d like to see he’s okay for my own benefit. Selfish reasons.”

Hotch notices Garcia edging towards her office. “Garcia, I will not be impressed if you find Reid’s hospital yourself,” he says, fixing her with a stern glare. 

She sags, returning to her seat. “Sorry, sir,” she replies, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

“Will you go and see him again?” Lewis asks. “I think we’d be able to work more  _ efficiently  _ when we know he’s alright.”

Hotch suppresses a smile at the way she stresses the word  _ efficiently _ . “I’m going there during our lunch break today,” he replies, “so if anyone has anything in particular they’d like to say to him, they can say it to me before then.”

Morgan nods. “Just a simple  _ get well soon  _ from me.”

“And me,” JJ adds, “and I think from everyone, really.”

Hotch nods. “I’ll tell him he’s in your thoughts. That’s all I have to say. Everyone, back to your consults.”

The team disperses, Morgan and JJ muttering amongst each other while Lewis and Garcia walk off in the direction of Garcia’s office. Hotch turns to Rossi, who hasn’t moved from his seat.

“Getting too old to stand up properly?” Hotch quips, raising one eyebrow.

Rossi just gives him a pointed stare. “Reid told you to stop us from visiting, didn’t he?” 

Hotch pauses, before nodding in defeat. “Was it that obvious?”

“It was to me, at least.” Rossi shrugs. “But then again, I’m not as protective of him as the rest of the team. Did he say why he was out so late in the first place?”

“I’m working on that.”


	3. Chapter 3

Aaron’s glad he remembered to bring Reid’s apartment key with him; an unfamiliar man in a dark suit and sunglasses trying to break a longtime-resident’s door down would probably look menacing to most residents. Unfortunately, he thinks that the same man desperately scrabbling around in his pockets for a key is an even worse look.

“Looking for Spencer, young man?” A voice from behind Aaron startles him; he turns around to see an elderly woman having just come up the stairs, holding an alarmingly large amount of shopping bags in both hands. “Are you his boss?”

“Just about to fetch some items for him,” he replies once his heart calms down. “And yes, I am his boss. Aaron Hotchner. Would you like help with those bags?” He finally finds Reid’s key, deep inside an obscure suit jacket pocket.

“No thank you.” She smiles toothily. “My apartment is just down the hall. What does Spencer need?”

“Just some books for him to read,” he answers, wondering if Reid would mind if he tells her about his current predicament. “Actually, I’m afraid there was a slight incident earlier this morning, ma’am.”

Her face pales. “Is he okay? Is he sick?”

“Sort of. Minor car accident,” he replies, hoping that if he’s blasé about it the woman won’t keel over and die of a heart attack on the spot. She certainly looks the type.

To his surprise, she remains silent for a few seconds. “Hmm,” she muses, readjusting her shopping bags. “That’s different to what I expected.”

“...What did _you_ suspect?”

“Well, I was on my way home from the grocery one night a few weeks ago, quite late,” she begins, and Aaron inwardly groans; her story is bound to be long-winded and filled with unnecessary details, and he doesn’t really want her to be carrying those bags any more than she really needs to. “And we both came home at around the same time, which at the time was odd to me because I hadn’t seem him around in a few months. When I asked him where in heck he’d been, he said he’d been sick and was coming home from refilling his prescription.”

  
Aaron’s heart jumped again at the possibility of Reid around drugs, then immediately chided himself for thinking the worst. “Did he elaborate on his illness?”

The woman pauses. “Brain problems,” she says, “or something to that effect. He had a lot of painkillers - or were they pain blockers? Oh, I don’t know.”

“Did you see what medications he had?” _If she saw Dilaudid, and he passed it off as his prescription..._

“I’m afraid not, young man. I’m legally blind.” She smiles toothily again.

_Oh God, I’ve intercepted a half-blind ninety year old._ “I’m sorry for keeping you, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she grins, readjusting her shopping bags again. Aaron watches intently for any sign of her losing her balance and falling down the stairs. “Please, tell Spencer I’m keeping him in my prayers.”

“I will,” he nods. She nods back and trudges away down the hall, very slowly. “Ma’am?” he calls out, wincing as she turns around to face him again. He can almost feel every vertebrae in her spine cracking.

“Yes, Hotchner?”

“Have you ever considered going into a care home?” Aaron suggests, hoping the woman doesn’t suddenly explode with anger. Those shopping bags look too lumpy to not be painful.

To his relief, her sweet demeanour stays. “Of course I have,” she says, “but I already have Spencer to take care of me. He often collects groceries for me, you know. He’s a good man.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything as she smiles and turns back around, moving slowly up the hallway. “Yes,” he replies after a few seconds, quietly and under his breath. “I know.”

_Then why do I keep suspecting the worst of him?_

**x o x**

Reid’s apartment is somewhat cleaner than he had expected; there’s no dirty dishes, all his books are neatly stacked in rows on the table, and even what he can see of his bed is well-made - which seems odd, considering that Reid had gone out in the middle of the night and apparently hadn’t gotten any sleep. _Perhaps he was getting a “prescription”_ , he thinks, before cursing and slapping himself mentally. _Don’t think those things. Reid deserves more trust than that._

He finds the books fairly easily. Four of them are textbooks on various subjects; he peeks inside one of them and is immediately presented with a very complicated diagram of _something_ he can’t make heads or tails of. He closes the book quickly, ego slightly bruised.

The fifth and last book is, to Aaron’s surprise, what looks like a pre-owned copy of _American Psycho._ He hadn’t picked Reid for the type to be reading up on contemporary critiques of capitalism (and serial killers). _Perhaps he didn’t enjoy the film._

He’s about to leave the apartment and not pry any further when a note on the opposite end of the desk piques his interest. Or rather, an envelope; pristine white, no stamp and the initials _S.R_ written neatly in the middle of the top flap. It looks a little like Reid’s own handwriting, albeit much neater than usual.

He debates himself for a few seconds. Aaron values the privacy of all of his team members, of course. He doesn’t like to pry any more than necessary into their personal lives (because that’s usually Morgan and Garcia’s job).

On the other hand, his conversation with Reid’s neighbour had given him a lot to think about.

The envelope sits there, mocking him.

After another second of hesitation, he snatches it up and puts it in his briefcase.

**x o x**

Reid looks much better than Aaron had anticipated when he first walks in again. He’s sitting up straight despite his ribs, watching the small television screen at the end of the room intently. _Dr. Phil_ appears to be playing, much to Aaron’s amusement.

“Reid?” he says, knocking on the doorframe quietly, mostly out of politeness. Reid’s head whips around comically, and Aaron feels bad when the younger man gasps slightly in pain.

“Hotch!” he says, good hand scrambling for the remote.

“I brought those books for you,” Aaron replies pulling up a chair beside the bed. “Who’s Doctor Phil talking to today?”

Red stares at him for a split second in apparent shock that his boss would be interested in such a TV show, but soon smiles wryly. “A teenage girl addicted to meth,” he starts, “a woman who was given faulty breast implants, and a gay couple who just learned they’re actually half brothers. The last part was the most interesting.”

“It’s like a real-life soap opera.” Aaron hands him _American Psycho._ “You’ve never read this?”

Reid shrugs. “I read so fast that I figured I could just read it whenever. Thanks for bringing these, I should be occupied until tomorrow afternoon now.”

“Don’t you mean a few hours?”

Reid’s smile disappeared. “I’m a human being, not a machine,” he says, rolling his eyes slightly. “Anyway, I believe you brought something else with you.”

Aaron freezes. _He couldn’t possibly mean...that envelope, could he?_ “I don’t believe I did.”

Reid rolls his eyes even harder. “Come _on,_ Hotch. I remember exactly where I left that envelope, right next to those books. There’s no way you didn’t see it.”

“And you think I picked it up?”

“Any other member of this team would.” Reid gives him a pointed stare, and it’s then that Aaron realises he’s not going to be able to keep the letter. Wordlessly, he reaches into his briefcase and hands it to the younger man, nodding stiffly.

Reid smiles as he takes the envelope from him, casting a quick glance at Aaron before angling his body slightly as he takes out the contents. He reads himself the letter, scanning it within a couple of seconds. “Thanks,” he says, reaching under the bed covers and storing the letter away. “Would you like the envelope?” he asks innocently.

Aaron smiles tightly. “No,” he says, “you can keep it.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How’s your head?”

“What?”

“Your head. You said you had a migraine when you got hit.”

Reid looks away. “Oh, yeah,” he frowns. “The pain of both the migraine and the concussion may have cancelled each other out. No headaches right now.”

“And your ribs?”

“Fine. Better. Great, even.” Reid pauses. “Did you tell the team?”

“I told them. They...took it well,” Aaron answers, watching Reid nod slowly.

“But you didn’t let them come see me?”

“Garcia was one keystroke away from hacking into your record,” he replies, “but I stopped her.”

“For now.” Reid smiles wryly. “In any case, I get out tomorrow, apparently.”

“That seems...early.” Aaron supposes that he trusts Reid’s doctor, but after everything the younger man has gone through in his twelve or so years on the team, he can’t help but feel like one day in hospital isn’t enough.

“It’s not like I’ve never broken ribs before,” Reid shrugs. “The pain would keep me from doing anything too strenuous anyway. And the concussion was barely a tap on the head.”

“But you _did_ just get hit by a car.”

“Well, I won’t deny that. How long do you think I’ll be off work for?”

Aaron pauses. He hasn’t actually considered this yet; Reid _seems_ fine, but he’s keeping too many secrets to be fully trusted - and he’d _really_ like to know what those prescriptions were, migraines or no migraines. Still, he’d rather his agent be at work where he can check up on him rather than be alone in his apartment, if something really is going on like he suspects. “Two weeks,” he sighs. “That’s the shortest period away I can grant you.”

“Can we cut it down to one?” Reid asks with a hopeful, well-rehearsed glimmer in his eye.

“Pulling your very best _wounded gazelle_ act, I see.” It sounds malicious, but he and Reid both smile. They both know that it’s an act Reid has pulled quite a few times in the past.

“I _am_ wounded. Just not much.” Reid blinks. “And I’ve been told I have something called _Bambi eyes_.”

Aaron is about to respond when there’s a soft, nervous knock at the door. “Excuse me?” comes a voice from the doorway. The two glance over to see Abigail standing there, half in the room and half still standing in the corridor. There are bags under her eyes and the bandage is still there on her forehead,but she looks better than she did a few hours ago.

“Abigail,” he says, standing to greet her. “How are you?”

“Good,” she says haltingly, sending cautious glances at Reid. “My head doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

“That’s good,” he says, looking at Reid, who just looks confused. “How did your parents take it?”

“Fine, I guess.” She shifts uncomfortably. “They came and picked me up from the hospital, so we talked then.”

“Who are you?” Reid interrupts somewhat rudely, glancing between Hotch and her.

“You don’t remember?” she asks, frowning. “I was the one that hit you...for which I am, again, so sorry.”

“Oh.” Reid sits still for a few seconds. “It’s fine. I didn’t die, so there’s that.”

“Yeah, we talked a bit after I hit you, but you had the concussion, so you would have been kind of out of it.

“Not at all,” he replies, frowning. “Like you said, probably the concussion.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Aaron asks, getting ready to stand up. “I can leave you two alone-”

“No, don’t worry,” she stammers, just as Reid opens his mouth. “I only came to see if Reid looked okay.”

“I feel fine,” Reid replies, “even better than I felt three minutes ago when I last got asked.”

Abigail winces. “Again...sorry about that.”

“You were just worried. Don’t pay much mind to it.”

A silence between the three of them commences, with Reid opening a book - clumsily with only one good hand - and Aaron standing there with Abigail.

“What about insurance?” he asks, just to break the silence. “Was your car damaged?”

Abigail stiffens. “Not really. The paint might need to be redone around the front, but that’s all.”  
  
“I’ll pay for it,” Reid offers, but Abigail shakes her head.

“Don’t worry,” she replies, “my parents said they would pay for it.”

“That’s very generous of them,” Aaron remarks. He raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

“They sorta agreed it wasn’t my fault when I told them what happened.”

_She has very lenient parents_ , Aaron thinks tersely, but stops himself from saying it out loud. Perhaps he would become that kind of parent to Jack in the not-so-distant future; though probably not, based on his reputation in the office.

Abigail coughs. “I’ll leave you to it, since you have company now.”

“Actually, I do have to get back to my job,” Aaron says, checking his watch. “Lunch break is over.”

“You can stay to talk more if you want,” Reid suggests to her, eyeing the seat Aaron had left. “And it’s more interesting than _Dr. Phil_.”

She pauses. “I think I’d like that,” she says, smiling slightly. “Do they still show reruns of _Jeremy Kyle US_ at this time?”

Aaron nods goodbye to Reid silently, who nods and waves back with his good hand. The last thing he sees before he turns around  and walks through the door is Abigail sitting down on the chair and scooting it over closer to his bed.

After a moment of thought, he closes the door behind him.

_God, I wish I’d lied about having that letter._


	4. Chapter 4

Reid comes back to work only two short weeks after his accident.

Hotch fully admits that he hasn't actually seen the man for two weeks on Reid's first day back at the office. They'd been on a case for the second week of his absence, lasting the full five weekdays and half into Saturday. He suspects Reid has been sneaking in during it and grabbed some consults to do from home, though he has no proof. Sneaky bastard.

Reid is scheduled to meet Hotch in his office at eight o'clock in the morning to discuss the limits of what he can and cannot do until he heals fully. Even though it's a full hour before their work officially begins, it's not an issue for either of them; Reid usually gets in at around seven thirty anyway, and Hotch a half hour before that. Sure enough, he sees Reid sit down at his desk from the window in his office at around half past seven.

He thinks back to the mysterious letter and equally mysterious voicemail Reid had left. Despite all his suspicions, he still hasn't listened to it yet - nor does he think he will. If Reid doesn't want him to listen to it, he supposes he won't. There could be anything on that voicemail - not to mention all the possibilities if Reid had only accidentally called. All the BAU members had become familiar with the _buttdial_ phenomenon after one drunken night at the bar where Garcia had been too careless with her phone. Judging by Reid's ability with technology - or rather, his lack of it - it's not inconceivable that it was just an embarrassing mistake.

Still, he can't bring himself to just _delete_ it, on the off chance that somewhere along the line, something _does_ go horribly wrong and he's left upstream without a paddle.

There's a soft knock at his door, and Hotch glances out his window to the bullpen to sees Reid's empty desk. "Come in," he says, as Reid's lanky form slithers in.

"Good morning," the younger man says, slipping into the seat opposite his boss. He's still wearing a cast on his wrist, though now it's purple, and there are some signatures on it already - most notably Garcia's, who has taken the liberty of drawing a rather cartoon-like interpretation of Reid. Aside from that, his agent looks fine, all the bruises from the accident having already faded.

"Good morning, Reid. How have you been?" Hotch is somewhat ashamed that during his agent's two week break, he hadn't visited him once. Jack had taken ill unexpectedly in the first week and Jessica was away on a trip, so he'd cared for his son mostly by himself. This left him little time for anything other than work and family, and he'd put Reid on the backburner and made Garcia and Tara promise they'd visit regularly. The younger man doesn't seem to hold it against him; instead, he just smiles unassumingly, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Good," Reid replies. "I caught up on some work for a university. They were interested in some of my previous essays."

"That sounds wonderful."

"It's fairly standard for me." From any other person's mouth it would sound pretentious, but from Reid, it sounds awkward, even apologetic.

"I should have known." The corners of Hotch's mouth turn up into what isn't quite a smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't visit." _Couldn't, not didn't,_ he makes sure to stress. He isn't sure whose benefit that choice of language is for.

"Don't worry about it," Reid says, with what seems like an equally tight smile. "It was good being able to do my own thing for a couple of weeks."

"Sounds a little like a backhanded compliment."

"I refuse to confirm that for fear of incriminating myself." Reid seems more relaxed after joking with his normally-stoic boss, and Hotch watches as the younger man's posture falters slightly and he sinks a little deeper into his seat.

"In any case, welcome back to the unit," Hotch says,

"You made it sound like I died."

"You could have," Hotch replies, and immediately feels bad as he watches Reid blink a little longer, a little harder than usual. Still, he doesn't want any more lies of coverups between them, and he supposes it's better to try catch Reid out when he's relaxed; better strategically at least, though perhaps not very kind.

"But I didn't. The first responders did their jobs."

"You remember the first responders?" It hadn't sounded to Hotch like Reid had remembered Abigail, or anything before waiting up in the hospital.

"No, but I assumed that I wouldn't be sitting here in one piece if they hadn't done a good job. _Anyway_ ,"... Reid changes the subject before Hotch can reply properly. "So, did you delete that voicemail I left you yet?"

"Yes." He says it without thinking; of course, he's not going to tell Reid he _hasn't_ deleted it two weeks after he asked him to, because then Reid will ask _why_ , and Hotch just knows that he won't take well to the reason of _because I don't trust you._ As it turns out, he didn't need to think about it anyway, because Reid catches him out immediately.

"No you haven't," Reid sighs. "Why lie, Hotch?"

"Do I have a tell that I need to fix?"

"Yes, but I'm not saying what it is." Reid crosses his arms again. "Why can't you just delete it like I asked?"

"I've been busy," Hotch replies, and immediately knows it's the wrong thing to say when Reid rolls his eyes.

"Yes, I realised that when you didn't talk to me for two weeks after I got hit by a car-"

"-You just said you didn't mind!" Hotch is genuinely sorry for the way he'd been forced to treat his youngest agent over the past couple of weeks - and he _has_ been forced to, because he just knows he didn't have the time - but he never wants any agent of his to lie about being uncomfortable with any kind of team dynamic, including the boss-subordinate one.

"I lied because I didn't want to make things awkward, but now I-"

"Hotch?" another voice asks from behind Hotch's door. The two men look up to find JJ awkwardly standing there, holding a stack of files in one hand and the doorknob in the other, looking ready to make a run for it.

"Yes, JJ?" Hotch says, finding pride in the fact that he barely managed to miss a beat. Reid, on the other hand, looks so mortified that he's about to pass out.

"We have a case…" JJ says, trailing off awkwardly, "so come through when you're ready, everyone's here." She closes the door and walks off to the round table room

"Truce, for this case?" Reid uncrosses his arms and legs and adopts a much less threatening, more mild expression. It looks well-practiced, and Hotch recognises it as the look he puts on when he pretends not to care about something someone's said about him.

"Of course," Hotch replies, because _screw it, what else can they do?_ He stands up and begins the journey to the round table room, inviting Reid to do the same. "I hope you're prepared for your first case back."

It comes out sounding much nastier than he intended.

x o x

"I have good news and bad news for you all."

Hotch watches as his team settles into their familiar positions at the round table, making sure to keep an eye on Reid especially. Garcia is at the front of the room as usual, checking the headcount before continuing.

Morgan frowns. "Can we get the good news first?" he asks. Hotch is inclined to agree; he fails to see what could be considered _good news_ if they've just been called in for a case, and he hopes Garcia hasn't decided to put what she would call a _fun twist_ into their jobs somehow.

"The good news is, you're all headed to an all-expense paid trip to Florida!" Garcia turns her slideshow on to reveal four victim photos arranged in a square, with names stylized in a glittery rainbow font to accompany each picture.

"I'm liking this font," Lewis comments with only the slight trace of a frown. "Very aesthetic."

"Thanks, it came with a bunch of transparent pngs of ice cream I didn't realise I'd get as well," Garcia replies.

"Why the change?" Reid asks, averting his gaze from the eyesore of the projector. It seems as if Hotch isn't the only one having trouble with the colours.

"I had some spare time and I thought you'd appreciate it a bit more than just looking at some dead bodies-"

Hotch holds up his hand. "I'm sure the Florida PD would appreciate our help catching their serial killer more than we would your creative font choices, but please continue," he reprimands, giving Garcia a stern gaze. It isn't really supposed to mean anything, but he lets her interpret it however she cares to.

"Of course, sir," she replies, switching slides to something more normal. "The bad news is that there's been a series of shootings they can't figure out, and you have to solve the case before you get a vacation."

Rossi smirks. "It's not like we'd get one anyway," he says with a pointed look at Hotch. "Are these the only victims?"

"They suspect that there's more, but only these four have been identified and have the signature present." Garcia flips to the next slide, showing a series of photos of the four victims' temples, more or less where the bullets had penetrated each victim.

"There's scratches running down the sides of their faces," JJ comments, leaning in closer to get a better look.

"Not scratches," Reid corrects, leaning forward to join her. "It's like...scooping?" His face twists. "That didn't make sense."

"No, I get it," Morgan nods. "They're scratches, but they look less like they're from a scratching motion and more like a scooping motion."

JJ lets herself smirk just a little. "Maybe they're trying to get their bullet out. Wouldn't wanna waste them."

"Our unsub is an extreme cheapskate, frequently spotted in a mobility scooter at Walmart," Lewis replies, _almost_ with a straight face.

"That's disgusting," Garcia mutters under her breath, before continuing much more brightly, 'As you've probably assumed, there's a truckload of DNA evidence in the scratch wounds, but it doesn't match any records the police had so it may as well be useless. Also, I know you were kidding, but the bullet went clean through each of the four victim." She makes a displeased face, pursing her lips. "All four bullets were retrieved from the scene and analysed, but that lead was a dud too, as was the gunpowder in the entrance wound."

"Are there scratch wounds on the other bullet hole then?" Reid asks. "There's got to be an exit wound if they found the bullets." It doesn't escape Hotch's notice that he hasn't really stopped looking at the victims' wounds on the screen.

"Apparently they were only found on the entrance wound each time," Garcia replies, facing the team so she doesn't have to look at the victim photos again. "All four victims were businessmen, in a loose sense of the word - that is to say, they all worked in large offices. Well, the third guy, David Sinclair, he worked as a manager of a McDonald's branch, but he still had an office."

"Were they found in their offices?" Morgan asks.

"No, they were found in their homes - no signs of breaking and entering- and all four lived alone. Sinclair was divorced, but apart from that they were all unmarried with no kids. Also, only Daniel Lee, the fourth man, owned his own house. The rest all rented."

Lewis cocked her head to the side. "So we have three middle-aged white men and one Asian man with similar lifestyles, all shot in the temple at close range in their own homes, like an execution."

"No," Reid says suddenly, still looking at the victim photos rather than his team. "Execution style is like this," he says, demonstrating by lifting an imaginary gun to the middle of his forehead and pretending to pull the trigger. "The bullet holes are in the wrong places for an execution-style shooting. If I hold a gun to my temple like this-" Reid holds up his pretend gun to his temple and pretends to fire, "-what does _that_ remind you of?"

"Suicide," Hotch says, turning to look at Reid with what he hopes is a piercing gaze. "A suicide attempt."

"Precisely," Reid says, and to Hotch's mild surprise, crosses his arms and shuts up, finally tearing his eyes off the slideshow.

There's an awkward silence before JJ coughs politely and breaks it, much to Hotch's relief. "If there was no sign of breaking and entering, did all four victims know the unsub somehow?"

"Probably," Reid replies before anyone else can say anything. "Knowing how our cases usually go, our unsub is gonna be an unmarried, childless, white middle aged man like the majority of the victims, suicidal at one point in his life, maybe has a few failed suicide attempts, _maybe_ even survived shooting himself in the head at one point. The victims might know the unsub from something like different anonymous support groups across the city, or maybe even the same one, since there don't seem to be very many people we can interview to find out more about the victims. Actually, that's probably where the unsub is finding all his victims, so we should look into those when we arrive at the precinct. Also hospitals, depending on what we find from the support group angle, they'll have records on any suicide attempts that required hospitalisation, as long as we flash our badges at them enough times. Perhaps he's acting out his own suicide attempt by killing the victims, but as with most attempts, regrets it afterwards, hence the scratching - disguising the wound out of shame? Hurting himself more out of shame? Or maybe he feels that there's something wrong with him _internally,_ in his brain itself, and the scratches are an attempt to look inside his brain, or the victims' brains, as an extension of his own mind." He pauses. "Of course, I _am_ just making all this up based on our previous cases, but doesn't it seem likely though?"

There's another silence, unsure of what to say after the uncharacteristically dark rant of Reid - although Hotch supposes that Reid's probably more right than wrong about their unsub."

"I concur," Lewis finally says with a wry grin, just as Morgan mutters, "Jesus _Christ,_ Reid," under his breath.

"Why don't we head to the precinct in question and confirm all this year?" Rossi gives Reid a look like the younger man has grown an extra head.

"Of course," Reid says with a somewhat plastered-on-looking smile. "I was mostly just being facetious. Are we going now?" He turns his pointed stare to Hotch, who figures it's best to let Reid get away with his sudden flippance if they're leaving for the plane so soon anyway.

"Wheels up in thirty," Hotch announces, and with that, the rest of the team slowly begins to disperse; Morgan puts an arm around Reid's shoulders' and goes _what the hell was_ that _, Pretty Boy?;_ Lewis and JJ go off together to get coffee before they leave, and Garcia is hastily walking out of the office with her equipment before Hotch can even say thank you. Rossi stands up slowly, taking a second to breathe and then turning to Hotch.

"That was creepy and I hated every second of it."

"What was, Dave?" Hotch replies mildly.

"You _know_ what I'm talking about, Aaron, don't play games with me." Rossi hesitates. "But you know more about it than I do, right?"

"I'll deal with it," Hotch assures him as he walks out, and he assures himself too. _Yes, I will._

Yes, the pieces are finally coming together.

x o x

It's only two days later, and Reid's rant from the round table briefing is turning out to be mostly correct. The team has narrowed down their unsub pool to two suspects - Michael Henderson, a forty-three year-old man with a history of hospitalizations for multiple suicide attempts, or Ed Willis, who is essentially the same man as Michael Henderson. Reid's gone out to get coffee for the team somewhere, while the rest of the team are debating over the more likely candidate for their unsub is.

"I say Ed," Lewis argues. "Since his only kid died back in '03 and his wife left him long before that. That's screwed up."

"I say Michael," Morgan argues back, "since he's been divorced twice in the past five years, and both wives had two miscarriages each. _That's_ screwed up."

"I say it's neither and Reid led us on some wild goose chase across Florida," JJ mutters, massaging her temples. "There's no evidence, just speculation. We're really living up to the profiler stereotype."

Hotch is about to give his own opinion when his phone rings. Curious, he glances at the caller - Abigail is ringing. _She says she'll call, doesn't talk to me for two weeks, then decides to call during a case?_ Hotch thinks in annoyance, but signals to the team that he has to take the call and go somewhere quiet. Rossi gives him a raised eyebrow, but says nothing.

"Abigail?" Hotch answers, once he's somewhere more quiet and where Abigail won't hear the sound of his team of professional FBI agents arguing over the most likely candidate for their serial killer. "I'm sorry, but this just isn't a good time."

"Is Reid with you?" she asks, and there's something different about her this time - she seems desperate, genuinely scared. He decides to hear her out, despite the bad timing.

"No," he answers. "Why?"

"Then it's a good time," she says, and Hotch hears something change in her voice then. "Listen, when I said that I hit Reid because he came out of nowhere, that wasn't exactly true...well it _was_ , but I didn't mention…"

"Yes?"

"...Hotchner, your agent jumped in front of my car," she finally gets out, then waits with what sounds like bated breath for his response. Hotch has suspected something like this for a while now, and had expected to feel anger upon his suspicions being confirmed; anger at Reid for hiding it, anger at Abigail for lying about it, anger at himself and his team for not noticing. Instead, all he feels is bleakness, and a feeling of _well, I guess I don't have to wonder now_.

"...Thank you for telling me," he finally says, glancing at the clock. _I wonder how long it's been since Reid left_ , he thinks. "I'll deal with it when he gets back."

"No, you don't get it," Abigail says urgently, and it makes Hotch shut up and listen. "He was unconscious for a little after I hit him, but when he woke up and heard sirens, he started saying...well, those things are his business, but they were horrible, horrible things...he said that if I got him to a hospital, he'd just try again, and again, and again until he was finally dead..."

"..." Hotch stays silent, willing her to continue. He feels slightly ill.

"I think he's mentally unstable….and I don't know what he'd try do, especially if left alone. Please find him and get him some help. And I'm sorry I didn't say sooner..." She hangs up before Hotch can reply, leaving him standing there numbly with the phone pressed against his ear.

There's a flurry of commotion amongst the police officers around him as a report of a man being shot in the head near the local Starbucks comes in, and he feels slightly more ill.

Suddenly, he doesn't feel so good about Reid being alone somewhere in the town anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

Hotch strides back into the area where his team is bickering, already calling Reid’s number.  _ If that was him that got shot just now… _

_ Well, if that was Reid that got shot right now, it eliminates one huge problem and creates another. _

“Why’s there a sudden stampede of cops, Hotch?” Morgan asks as his boss comes back into his view. 

“Someone was just shot in the head by the local Starbucks,” he answers, seamlessly slipping on his suit jacket. 

“One of ours?” Lewis frowns.

_ That may well be more true than you think.  _

“Possibly,” he replies, “but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Lewis, you come to the scene with me, Morgan and JJ, you stay here and work on the profile some more.”

“What about Reid?” Morgan asks.

“I’m call him,” Hotch answers, glancing down at his phone screen. No reply. He hangs up, then calls him again. 

“Sure,” JJ nods. The side glance she gives Morgan doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t have the time or patience to deal with it. Instead, he gestures to Lewis, and the two make their way out to the SUV together. He doesn’t know why he’s bringing Lewis and not one of the team members Reid’s known for longer. Maybe it’s because he thinks Reid would feel better being vulnerable to someone who doesn’t really know him, rather than being vulnerable to someone he’s known for years.

_ Or maybe it’s because I don’t want Morgan or JJ seeing Reid’s corpse,  _ he thinks grimly. 

“Reid’ll be pissed he’s missing the action,” Lewis comments lightly. “Still, I suppose he’s the best candidate for ordering us coffee, since he can remember everyone’s orders.”

“I suppose.” There’s still no reply from Reid, so he hangs up and tries again for the third time.

“He’ll be fine, you know,” Lewis says suddenly, throwing Hotch off course.

“What?”

“You’re worried Reid got in trouble getting the coffee,” she explains to him, which seems like it should feel condescending, but oddly doesn’t. “Does Reid get in trouble a lot?”

“More commonly than the rest of our team,” Hotch murmurs darkly. He puts his phone away as they clamber into the SUV. “At least Morgan and JJ didn’t seem worried.”

“I don’t think Reid specifically said he was going to Starbucks, so they probably didn’t make the connection,” Lewis replies. “You don’t need to worry. He’ll be fine.”

Hotch pauses. “He’s not picking up his phone,” he says. 

“I’ll try, then. Maybe he thinks he’s gonna get an earful from you, or something.”

_ You bet he’s going to get one,  _ Hotch thinks grimly as they tear out of the precinct parking lot,  _ but not about what Lewis is thinking of. _

**x o x**

There are already cops lurking around when their SUV pulls up to the crime scene, talking to witnesses and cordoning off areas with yellow tape. The Starbucks is being evacuated, customers being shooed away by law enforcement as they try and get a good look at the scene. Morbid fascination. There’s a body covered by a white sheet further down an alley next to the Starbucks - the victim.

He lets himself breathe a sigh of relief when he sees Reid’s thin - yet seemingly unharmed - form, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, back propped up against the alley wall. He can’t see his face, but he can remember the white shirt he’d been wearing, and his messy hair is recognisable from a mile away.

An officer sees Hotch and Lewis walking towards the body and steps in front of them. Hotch recognises him from the precinct; he’d looked skeptical of the BAU when they’d first arrived, but hadn’t been especially antagonistic towards any of them.

“Officer, please let us through-”

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you guys playing at?” the officer snarls, interrupting him.

“Excuse me?” Hotch says, giving him a Stern Glare. The officer doesn’t seem intimidated, surprisingly; rather, he just seems to get angrier.

“Your agents can’t just go shooting people  _ in the street _ when they think they see a serial killer,” the officer rants, pointing to Reid. “He says he shot the guy you’re looking for, your unsub guy, or whatever you call it.  _ Beside a Starbucks.  _ Who the fuck does that?!”

“Officer, please calm down,” Lewis frowns, as Hotch shoulders past the two of them and heads toward Reid, who’s still sitting with his head between his knees. He feels hesitant to approach him; Reid looks like he’s about to have a panic attack, what if Hotch just makes it worse?

“Reid?” he says, trying to put a mixture of sternness and concern into his tone. He’s not sure how much it works; seemingly not a lot, because Reid doesn’t look up, or even move that much. “Reid.”

He considers getting a paramedic to come over, because why the fuck are they not tending to the guy who looks like he’s about to hyperventilate, but then Reid lifts his head, and Hotch can’t stop himself from gasping just a little. There’s blood spray on his face and white shirt, so much that he has to close his eyes for a brief second and remind himself that  _ it’s not Reid’s blood, it can’t be _ . Lewis is suddenly beside him and lets out a shaky exhale, apparently waiting for Hotch to make the first move.

It doesn’t matter, because Reid speaks first anyway. “He was the unsub,” he says, and it’s almost a whisper, though not so quiet they can’t hear him. “Ed Willis. He recognised me from the press conference.”

“And he threatened you?” Lewis completes his thought.

Reid just nods, turning back around and resting his head on his knees again. Hotch can remember Reid’s presence at the press conference, but JJ had done most of the talking. In fact, he can’t even remember if Reid had done anything to warrant the unsub’s attention. “He pulled me into the alley as I walked past,” he continues, still too quiet for Hotch’s liking, “and he said he was going to kill me, so I shot him before he could.” He still doesn’t make any eye contact. “But I’m not hurt. This is all his blood.”

“I’ll talk to the officers,” Lewis says, and extracts herself with grace. It’s just Hotch and Reid now, so Hotch bends down so he can look at Reid without feeling like he’s talking down to him.

“Reid. I need you to look at me. Properly.”

Reid takes a deep breath and complies, some of the shock having worn off. He still looks too pale, but his pupils are normal size.  _ Well, at least I probably won’t have to call a medic over to check for catatonia _ , he thinks.

“Is that the whole truth?” he asks. He sees no point in stalling the inevitable.

Reid blinks. “What?”

“What you just told me, how he pulled you into the alley and threatened you. Is that all true?”

“Yes,” Reid almost answers immediately. _ So far so good. _

“And you didn’t leave anything out?”

This time, Reid pauses a little before he answers; it’s only a tiny pause, but it’s still there. “No,” he says, and then his eyes widen slightly in curiosity and says, “Why would I leave something out?”

Hotch almost finds himself falling for it.

**x o x**

After a short trip to the hospital to check if Reid really  _ is  _ fine, the two of them are finally able to relax in their hotel room. Their plane leaves tomorrow, and Hotch has encouraged his team to take it easy after the rather exciting - and somehow still anticlimactic - end to their case. Usually Hotch wouldn’t be rooming with Reid, but he’d made sure that the two were together after Reid’s accident.

Hotch is attempting to send a text to Jessica when Reid sits at the opposite end of the couch. “Where’s the remote?”

“Don’t put on  _ Dr. Phil _ ,” Hotch murmurs. “My brain is fried enough already from the case today.”

“I was thinking  _ Jeremy Kyle _ , actually,” Reid smiles. “Did you know there’s an American version of it now? I should get my family on, we’d be famous.”

“Mine too,” Hotch agrees. It’s strange seeing Reid... _ normal _ already, like nothing even happened. It’s almost chilling how little Reid seems to be affected by it now.

Reid turns on the TV, though Hotch isn’t particularly interested in watching. He hears him channel surfing, before finally deciding on some kind of dance reality show. The sound of two women yelling in fury at each other finally prompts him to investigate what the hell Reid’s watching. “Why are they yelling?”

“They’re arguing about whether Maddie’s dance teacher favours her over the other girls at the studio,” Reid explains. “The blonde one is her mother.”

Hotch looks up briefly. “They’re both blonde.”

  
“The naturally blonde one is Maddie’s mother. No way Christi’s hair isn’t dyed.”

“Oh. Alright.” Hotch finds that he can’t go back to sustaining he and Jessica’s conversation while the sound of two women screeching at each other lingers, so he decides to give up and watch with Reid. “Why’s that girl crying?”

“That’s Maddie, she’s crying because Christi is basically insulting her to her face.”

“But does she get special treatment?”

Reid shrugs. “She does, but none of the other girls really want the extra practice sessions enough for Abby to do them.”

“Who’s Abby?”

“The dance teacher.”

“Why doesn’t Abby just kick Christi out if she’s disturbing everyone this much?”

Reid gives him a look. “...It’s on TLC, Hotch. It’s fake.”

“Oh, right.” Hotch waits for a little longer to say what’s been on his mind. “You know, you don’t have to pretend you’re okay after what happened today.”

“I’m not pretending. It’s fine.” Reid answers a little too quickly for Hotch’s liking.

“...Reid.” Hotch give him a concerned glance, but Reid just turns away. “I’ve seen this happen before with you. We all have.”

“Would you have been this invasive if I hadn’t been in that accident a few weeks ago?” Reid rolls his eyes and turns the TV off, leaving the room awkwardly silent. Hotch clears his throat before trying to continue, heart sinking as Reid gets off the couch and stands aimlessly in the middle of the room.

“You’re saying it would be illogical for me not to be especially worried after a trauma like that?” Hotch asks.

“More like you wouldn’t be asking that if I was any other member of this team.”

“I need to know what really happened with the unsub today, Reid.” He hates to do it, but after Reid’s recent behaviour and what he’d learned from Abigail, he can’t help but be suspicious of his story.

Sure enough, Reid’s form stiffens even further at Hotch’s response, and he straightens, folding his arms. “I already told you what happened. He recognised me from the press conference we did and was gonna kill me, so I had to defend myself.”

“It’s not about whether it was a clean shot,” Hotch tries to explain, “it’s about you leaving out important details.”

“I told you  _ everything _ already, if you’re so sure I’m lying then why don’t  _ you  _ tell me what  _ you  _ think happened?”

A muscle in Hotch’s jaw clenches as he weighs up his options. “Maybe your profile of Ed Willis was completely spot-on. Maybe he  _ was  _ suicidal and looking to go out by suicide-by-cop if we ever did catch him. Maybe he realised he was as good as arrested when he recognised you, and he told you about about all the hardship he’d faced in his life, and how he just wanted to end it all. And then  _ maybe,  _ you did that thing where you identify with our unsubs too much, and you gave him the out he wanted.”

The younger man is silent for a few more seconds.  _ Does that mean I’m right?  _ Hotch wonders, but Reid interrupts his thoughts. “He was a murderer,” he says stiffly, and it frightens Hotch how little emotion there is in his voice. “A  _ serial killer _ . There was nothing for me identify with.”

_ That’s where I know you’re wrong. _

“Abigail already told me you jumped in front of her car that night.” Hotch doesn’t want to waste any more time; it’s cruel, but he can’t continue to ignore it anymore. Not to mention he doesn’t think it would be good for _Reid_ to continue to ignore it himself, either.

Reid is silent for what feels like an eternity, perfectly still. Hotch can almost hear him thinking, trying to think of a new lie, trying to think of a way out. He reminds Hotch of a gazelle pretending to be wounded, or perhaps a gazelle that really is wounded, and won’t accept it.

It’s a few more seconds before Reid speaks again, tone perfectly measured with only the smallest hint of tension. “She’s lying.”

“I know she isn’t.”

Reid pauses again, still facing away from Hotch. “I had a  _ migraine _ ,” he says, through what sounds like clenched teeth. “And I was trying to  _ get home _ , but the pain was confusing me, and I wasn’t careful enough crossing the road back to my apartment. That’s all that happened.”

“Yet you didn’t seem to remember telling me that the next day in the hospital,” Hotch counters, moving a step closer. “

“I had a  _ concussion _ .” Reid’s voice is quiet, but Hotch can hear the seething anger from him even with his back turned.

“Was it a concussion, or was it you forgetting your cover story?”

“When you get hit by a car you  _ do  _ tend to get concussions,” Reid shoots back. “Is is so hard to think that I may have been confused about things I’d said the night before?”

“If it was anyone else, I’d believe them,” Hotch replies. “But not you. You don’t make mistakes like that.”

“I’m not a machine!” Reid finally turns around to face Hotch, and the older man can just make out the gleam of tears in the younger man’s eyes. “I make mistakes sometimes!”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t,” Hotch replies, cursing himself for his mistake.  _ You idiot. Why would you say that, of all things you could have said? _

“No, you just said it outright instead of being so polite as to  _ imply  _ it,” Reid snarls. To Hotch’s surprise, he grabs his bag and starts packing his things.

Hotch crosses his arms. “Where are you running off to now?”

“Different hotel,” Reid explains. He blinks hard once, and Hotch sees that the tears are gone. “I don’t want to be sharing a hotel room with you all night.”

“You’re suspended if you walk out that door.” His harshness surprises even himself, but he wonders if there’s any other way to get through to Reid other than threatening his work. Sure enough, it makes Reid pause, but to Hotch’s surprise, he resumes his packing after a few seconds and smirks.

“You’ll bring me back,” he says simply, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “That’s what you always do.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Hotch counters. Reid shoulders past him and opens the door, not bothering to look back.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” he replies. “Think about it.”

And then he’s gone, the door closing behind him as not a trace of his youngest agent is left in the room.

Hotch sits down heavily on the bed and runs a hand over his face. He wonders if he can get away with going down to the hotel bar and having a drink, just to treat himself for once.

_ But you don’t deserve it after the shit you just pulled, do you?  _ he thinks.

He wasn’t wrong for not trusting Reid. Reid had brought that upon himself.

_ Hadn’t he? _

And then he realises, he  _ still  _ hasn’t deleted Reid’s voicemail.

**x o x**

_ there’s too much noise in his apartment, and yet there’s too much quiet at the same time. _

_ the bridge is a only a short walk away, maybe five minutes if he walks briskly. the air is cold around him, and his harsh breath makes little clouds of air. his cheeks are cold from the streaks of tears on them; he reaches up to wipe a shirt sleeve across them, only to feel the bare skin of his forearm. maybe that’s why he’s so cold. _

_ he can see the bridge now, and peers over the railing to gaze at the water below. there’s enough wind tonight that the water isn’t completely calm, but the waves are only small. how much would it hurt if he were to jump over right now? there’s probably statistics on what would break, what wouldn’t, how much everything would hurt, how quickly he’d die. _

_ does it matter? if he dies, he dies. sayonara, bon voyage, good riddance. _

_ without realising, he pulls out his phone and looks at the time; 1:09 in the morning. he wants to call someone, just to see if they’d care enough to pick up, but he’s already written the note and left it back at his apartment. he supposes most of the team would be asleep anyway, or have a significant other to talk to. _

_ except hotch, he realises, and starts dialing hotch’s number. _

_ unsurprisingly, there’s no answer. figures. he decides to leave a voicemail, just in case his boss does happen to wake up in time to stop him. _

_ “aaron...it’s me. reid. i was just calling to see if you were awake...but i guess not. uh, i’m sorry if this woke you up. i shouldn’t have called...i don’t know why i called you, even. i guess...maybe i just wanted to talk to someone before i...uh, maybe i just wanted you to be the last person i talked to. i’m scared to do it...i’m scared it will hurt. but death, or more like the loss of existence...i think that would be less painful than living at this point. anyway, i’m sorry i called you this late. i hope i didn’t wake jack. please, try forget about this. and about me. i don’t deserve to be remembered for anything by you all…” _

_ and then he hangs up, because thinking about jack and how unfair it is that people are born into the world without asking for it depresses him further. _

_ he won’t jump off the bridge. he thinks it’ll hurt too much, and he hates to admit it, but he doesn’t really want to die in pain. no, he’ll go back to his apartment and take all of his antidepressants he’d been prescribed. he hasn’t taken any of them since he’d been given them, so there should be more than enough to get him started. then, he’ll take his whole prescription of sleeping pills, though there isn’t as many of them left. maybe he’ll take some dilaudid as well. it’s his last day on earth, he can afford to splurge. _

_ but the closer he gets to his apartment, even that option becomes less appealing. he doesn’t want to have to face his apartment again, where he feels like he’s suffocating in loneliness every night. he doesn’t want to have to look at the suicide note he wrote, either. _

_ he’s about to give up altogether and just find a motel for the night when he sees a pair of headlights coming from in the distance, the first he’s seen all night. would it hurt less or more than the overdose, than the bridge? would it be a slow death as he dies bleeding out on the road, or or would it be quicker, like a match into water? _

_ as the headlights grow closer, he realises he’s already made up his mind. he steps out into the road, or maybe it’s more like a jump, and there’s a noise like the swerving of tires, followed by a sickening crunching noise. _

**_and after that, finally, blissful nothing._ **


End file.
